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Post by Dredka on May 7, 2019 17:40:10 GMT
Orc activity is one of those constant nuisances. There were plenty of goblinoid races who made themselves a constant and perpetual threat throughout Faerun, and numerous other annoyances too, some of which could be deadly. Orcs, though? They were famous for their fanatical fervour. A single orc was no threat at all to even a moderately organised village. A band of them, though? That could prove dangerous. A full horde? Those could threaten even a city as great and powerful as Waterdeep. Orcs were a disease. Left unchecked, they’d tear down even the strongest bastions of civilisation. Orc raiding parties were the first symptoms; they’d probe the main roads, the arteries into the City, and where they found weakness they would multiply, taking greater liberties, attacking more caravans, until they had taken the resources and slaves they needed to grow their strength and – in the process – start to choke the City before they even reached its walls. Of course, Waterdeep was one of the greatest cities in Faerun. Whilst it might one day fall victim to its own complacency, it had not reached that zenith of power by allowing threats to go unanswered. So, the very day that a merchant caravan set for one of the Masked Lords announced that it had been attacked by orcs en route? That was the day the call went out for Waterdeep’s adventuring community to come together and produce stalwart souls to stand in the City’s defence. They mustered at dawn, the early morning sun lighting their journey as the group headed out along the main road and into the wilderness. As they went, members of the City Guard split the groups up – which brought this particular band together. Kara Bellringer, recognised as a veteran of conflict with the orc scum, placed in command of the group. The rules were simple as far as the Watchman had said – You do what Kara says, you get paid. You die, and Kara doesn’t, unless everyone agrees it was your own stupid fault. The City can’t afford to keep resurrecting impulsive adventurers. Warden, given a little scepticism for her heritage, but recognised for her vigilant defence of the city’s downtrodden – the very people, often outside the City’s walls proper, who would suffer most if the orcs mustered in force. Igostrom, a newcomer to the City, but strong, and possessed of noble spirit. Honeybun, the group’s dedicated healer and support – the City Watchman was a little concerned about her presence, but matching her up with Warden and Igostrom, he was certain they’d keep her alive. And then there was Dredka. The massive, towering orcish figure had raised some eyebrows when she had turned up. The brute had made a fine showing of herself on the Fields of Triumph, but she was still – whatever else she was – an orc. Nor had she worked particularly hard to ingratiate herself with her fellows. She walked with greataxe in hand, and spoke as little as possible. She didn’t like to meet any of their eyes – least of all Kara, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts. It had been decades since she had taken up the blade against her own people. It would be good to vent some of her hate. moralhazard khorne Jarovbees enchilada |
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Post by moralhazard on May 7, 2019 18:03:59 GMT
Kara had taken her half-plate armor for repairs. The dents were gone, the cracks smoothed into nothing, each of the plates whole and flawless – or, at least, as whole and flawless as they had been when she’d bought the (used) armor. Even though the blacksmith hadn’t left it anywhere near dull, she had polished it to a bright shine the night before, the slow, rhythmic work a balm to her thoughts. Her glaive was just as flawless; it hadn’t needed repair, but Kara polished it anyway, then worked a palmful of oil into the wood and the metal, careful and thorough, practiced fingers ensuring that the entire thing got a perfect, even coat.
It was no hardship for Kara to be up by dawn the next day. She was fully kitted out, dressed in her half-plate, with her heavy glaive gripped in one hand. Her javelins were strapped to the outside of her pack and armor; her daggers rested at her waist.
Kara’s eyes drifted over her group members. Warden, known to her – a good fighter, if a bit inexperienced, by Kara’s reckoning. A paladin, which meant certain healing ability. Igostrom, strong and brave in combat. Honeybun, an odd choice in Kara’s mind, but a good healer, and small – presumably nimble. She was the one Kara worried about most.
And then there was Dredka.
Years of training to respect authority was the only thing that had kept Kara from crying out at the placement of the orc in their group. Her jaw clenched tight; her teeth ground together; and she had swallowed the bitter pill with as much grace as she could muster, which was to say – none, but at least she had made no protest. Even if Kara had wanted to – even if she had tried – there was little chance of her keeping the anger from her face.
An orc. An orc! How could the City Guard have let her come along? Dredka’s name and reputation were unknown to Kara. She thought, bitterly, that the orc woman was as likely to stab them in the back as help them, in the midst of battle. How could she trust an orc? Just thinking of it – again, as they walked – was enough to make Kara’s jaw clench and grind once more, and to send a stabbing pain up into her temples.
Never mind.
Kara took a long, slow deep breath. If Dredka disobeyed her – if she threatened any member of the party – Kara would kill the woman herself. She didn’t care if the City Watch refused to pay her because of it. There were things that were more important than money.
They had been walking for nearly an hour when Kara called the others to a halt, looking between them. Igostrom, she thought, would know something of the basics of fighting as a group. Warden too, perhaps. But there was no guarantee that they all had the same signals. Better to stop now and discuss tactics and planning.
Kara took a deep breath. Her anger at being assigned Dredka had driven out the fear of being in command again. She had had her own squad in Sundabar. She had done well – for a time – but it hadn’t ended well. The Freewolves wouldn’t have given her command, and if they had tried Kara would have refused. But this wasn’t Sundabar, and these weren’t Freewolves. She knew them – three of them, at least. She could do this.
Kara thrust a hand into a pocket, and emerged with – whistles? Whistles. She slung one around her own neck, and passed them out: one to Warden, with a friendly nod; one to Igostrom and one to Honeybun, each of whom received a nod as well. Slowly, as if the very movement pained her, she extended one to Dredka, the string and whistle dangling from her clenched, gauntleted fist so there was no chance of them accidentally touching. She would hold, still and silent, until the orc woman took it; if she didn’t, Kara would drop it at the ground at her feet.
However it went, Kara would pull back, taking a few steps so she could look at the four of them. Her other hand still held her glaive.
“If we’re not ready, they’ll crush us.” Kara said, simply. She’d seen it – more than once. She looked from Warden to Igostrom, down to Honeybun, meeting each of their eyes. Her gaze flickered, grudgingly, to Dredka; she made no effort to meet her gaze.
“Tell me what you can do,” Kara crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the shaft of her glaive into the crook of her elbow. She knew the capabilities of several of them, at least in part, but it wasn’t just for her; it was so they’d know each other as well. She looked between the four of them again, still and silent, not intending to say another word until they had each spoken.
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Jarovbees
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Post by Jarovbees on May 7, 2019 18:43:34 GMT
Warden wasn't too familiar with orcs as a race, more their half-human cousins. There had been a few half-orcs both in the orphanage and as foundlings at the House of the Moon. One of Selune's focuses was on motherhood, after all, and her accepting nature meant that a lot of 'less acceptable' types of infants found their way to her mercy. Full-blooded orcs, though, she had yet to see except at a distance...until now.
A native Waterdhavian was supposed to be unflappable, and for Warden it was a point of pride not to give into gawking when they mustered at dawn. After all, thanks to her tiefling blood she has also been subjected to that in the past and worse, so it's not something she would wish on another. There was a small part of her -that she was ashamed of- which was a little relieved for her presence, not just for fighting ability but the fact that Warden herself wouldn't be the only one getting the side-eye on this trip. That wasn't an easy burden to bear alone...but maybe they could bear it together, if the woman would ever talk. Not the sort of person to pry and recognizing that it might not be welcome, Warden held off from that for now but made a mental note to seize the moment if there was one.
Kara's strong reaction to Dredka was noted, though Warden told herself not to worry about it. Bellringer was a professional and she had reason enough to believe the human woman would manage some restraint. No one said anyone here had to be best friends, just that they had to work together. The greater orc threat was the issue at hand, not the one in their midst. Though if that turned out not to be true, Warden would join Kara in ensuring that the orc woman would suffer for any treachery. She took the whistle with a friendly nod, careful of her horns as she slipped it around her neck.
At Kara's request, she spoke up first. "I'm Warden--" Said purely for the benefit of those who did not know her. "--and I'm a paladin of Selune. I can fight -usually with my battleaxe- and I can heal...and I've taken an oath of vengeance against my enemies. That involves anyone who threatens Waterdeep, so it should suit this mission just fine."
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khorne
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Post by khorne on May 7, 2019 20:33:58 GMT
The night before, Igostrom had mentally prepared himself tenfold. He held much rage against orcs, but many times he had seen rage consume soldiers, who later got themselves killed. But not Igostrom. He was a knight. A cut above. He knew that a small disciplined force of 100 could easily fight a rowdy crowd of 1000. He had seen it before. He prayed to Tyr. He cleaned his sword until he saw his reflection in it. He polished his lance until it was as bright as the sun. He busted a small dent out of his shield, until it was perfect. He was ready... or so he thought.
And then there was Dredka.
Igostrom was furious. He had fought orcs for a decade. He had been involved in numerous campaigns against them. He had comrades who had fallen at the ends of their blades, who he held in his arms as they bled out. He had seen villages burned, men slaughtered, women raped, children orphaned and enslaved. He held his own master, whom he loved and served dearly, as he bled out into the dirt of the battlefield, stuck by an orc. He truly believed he had reason to hate orcs more than anyone. And now, he was to fight side by side with one. One of the abhorrent orcs.
Igostrom, however, was a knight. A soldier. One of the best. And the best soldiers do not disobey orders, nor do they question them. He showed no negative emotion to anyone that day, not even to Dredka. His face was as stone, and it would take an extremely high level magic spell to get those emotions out of him.
Igostrom WAS ready. He was covered head to hoof in his custom made full plate armor, which he had gotten repaired and polished the night before. His longsword was strapped to his human hip, and his lance and shield were on his back. His crossbow and bolt quiver was on his other hip, just in case of those sneaky fucking goblins. He looked like he was ready to take on the apocalypse, not a ragtag band of orcs. He removed his helmet to talk to the party.
"I am Igostrom. I have experience as a lightning-tactics heavy shock trooper, a defensive line-holder, and a skirmishing distraction unit. I have both been in, and commanded units of all of these. I have a lance, a longsword, and a light crossbow. And let it be known that I have no stigmas against letting any of you ride me into battle, unlike many of my kind. I may be proud, but efficiency comes first."
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Post by enchilada on May 7, 2019 21:02:55 GMT
What was she even doing here? Sometimes she wondered if it was terribly wise, to make the decisions that she did. But Honeybun didn’t want to imagine a dull, repetitive life, and, too quickly, she felt routines fall into place. Not today, demon.
The important thing, she supposed, was preparation. Her dulcimer was freshly varnished, making sure that paintjob and those hasty scratch marks really shone, then, of course, her fur had to be shaven, not too close, though. Her hat was brought low over her head, at least until she was out of the city. Then she felt more free to push it up on her head. Her leather armor didn’t need any work, it was unscratched, unused, but prepared just in case something like this came.
And Honeybun was a brave rabbit, with wit and knowledge, and there was always more to learn — at least, there was always more to learn about things she didn’t already know. One of those few topics was combat. Honeybun fancied herself a decently logical kind of creature, so, as long as she kept levelheaded, surely there was nothing to lose.
Honeybun drew a sharp intake of air between her teeth.
She was no commander of units, she really had very little experience. She wasn’t a paladin of Selune. She had no oath. Honeybun really had no ties to the group, except...
“I’m Honeybun, though uh, some of you already kinda knew that. Uh. I can fix you up if you need it, and, well. I’ll try and make sure you don’t miss — I think it will make sense when you feel it.” She rubbed her hands together. “And, most importantly, you’ll be kicking ass to the sickest beats you’ll ever hear in your life, unless we team up again, that is.” She said with a wink, lightly fingering her dulcimer.
Honeybun tried to smile, she really did.
“I just wanna make sure you don’t get too hurt.”
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Post by Dredka on May 8, 2019 5:38:49 GMT
Dredka peered at the whistle that was offered to her, and when it was dropped on the ground, she shrugged with a vague grunt. She had no idea what all that was about, and frankly she didn’t much care. Even she wasn’t so stupid that she could miss the raw aggression rolling off her unit’s commander. It was to be expected. She was pretty sure that the Guard had deliberately put her with someone who would be hard on her. Chances were high they would try to get her killed out here, killing her own people.
They could try.
She listened to each of the others in turn, introducing themselves and their specialties. As eyes inevitably turned to her at the end, she tightened the loops of chain around her biceps, fingering the shattered edges.
She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders, and tried to imagine that this was merely another arena. Just another crowd that would hate her at first, but come to love her when they saw what she could do. She knew how to play to a crowd…
… but it didn’t come. This isn’t the arena. This isn’t home. This was a new land, beset by the same problems as ever – her kind – and if they faltered, the best they could hope for was a quick death.
She hesitated. For her, more than for the rest of them, she had to get this right. She had fought so many times in her life, but never did she need to worry about blades coming at her from all directions if she got some words wrong.
What was she doing? She wasn’t going to apologise for what she was. She was proud of what she was. There was nothing for her to feel shame about.
Truth, then.
“I am Dredka Chain-Breaker.”
She growled the words, a low, guttural snarl before her fist slammed hard into her own chest, making the chains rattle as she tried to psych herself up. That helped a little bit, even if the sudden, violent motion might not help her fellows see her as a civilised sort.
“I will CRUSH them. I will BREAK them. I am not them. You don’t trust me? Fine.”
She stepped forwards, then, her massive bulk looming over Kara – and inadvertently pressing the whistle down into the muck. Thankfully, at least, the ground was soft after recent rains.
“When we find them, let me go first. I will draw them to me. Then the rest of you attack. I will take their blows. I do not fear the weak slaves of the Cyclops.”
She spat in vehement disgust upon the ground between herself and Kara. No big surprises as to her skillset then. Violence. The massive axe and muscles weren’t just for show. And perfectly willing to place herself in the firing line. She wouldn’t be able to stab anyone in the back if she were charging headlong into the horde herself, after all.
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Jarovbees
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Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
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Post by Jarovbees on May 8, 2019 13:19:44 GMT
It was a strange feeling, realizing that of all assembled, Warden was among the most 'normal'. That's not something that could have ever been said in her entire life up to this point. She listened to all other introductions, raising an eyebrow at Ingstrom's offer as she hadn't even been going to ask about riding him. That would have been offensive, right? But if he's offering...well, maybe it will be useful at some point. She greets the offer with a nod.
At least she had heard of centaurs before. Honeybun, though...she had so many questions, all of which she realized were intrusive and not relevant to the task ahead. Listening to her mentioned skills, Warden nodded thoughtfully. She could appreciate someone who made it easier for her to fight, and not being the only healer was a relief. (At least partly because she wanted to save some room for smiting.) Front-line combatants weren't the only ones who could contribute and she knew better than to think otherwise.
Dredka Chain-Breaker...interesting name. Warden raised an eyebrow at the orc woman's aggressive speech, oddly respecting her all the more for it. No one was going to trust her on words alone, but if she planned to prove herself through action, the tiefling woman was entirely supportive. It would certainly be a sight to behold, of that she was certain.
"...well. We're not lacking for talent, I see that much. Good to know."
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Post by moralhazard on May 8, 2019 14:31:23 GMT
Kara needed Warden’s introduction least of all, but she watched her with her full attention, gave a faint nod, and turned to Igostrom. A useful range of weapons, experience fighting with groups both small and large - Kara was glad for his presence. She nodded at his offer that someone would ride him.
Kara would have to think on it. It was tempting to put Honeybun on the centaur, but Kara thought it might be a mistake. He would be in the thick of things, and the rabbit would be a smaller rider than he might be used to guarding. She let the thought go for now and turned to Honeybun.
It was no surprise, but still a considerable relief that the rabbit intended to play a support role. Kara nodded again.
Finally - last - she turned her attention to Dredka.
Kara held her ground as Dredka stepped closer to her. Her hands locked behind her back, and her chin lifted, keeping her gaze on the orc’s without the slightest regard for their height difference. A vein twitched and jumped in her jaw as she clenched her teeth yet again.
If Dredka meant to intimidate her, Kara thought, she would find it wasn’t so easy. She didn’t flinch as the orc spat on the ground between them, unfriendly and unyielding.
“Pick up the whistle.” Was all Kara said.
Kara didn’t move an inch; if Dredka didn’t retreat, she would act very much as if she had no idea the orc was looming over her. Kara took her whistle in her hand, looking at the others.
“Whistles are for signaling,” Kara said, firmly. “We fight as a unit today. Not alone. I’ll teach you three signals.”
“First,” Kara raised the whistle to her mouth and blew three times - short, long, short. “It means help.” She said, firmly. “Blow this on the battle field and I will come to you.” Her eyes met Honeybun’s, then Warden’s, then Igostrom’s. After a moment, she even tipped her head up to look at Dredka. Perhaps she would regret giving the orc woman a way to lead her into a trap. But Kara rather thought Dredka would be the one to regret it, if she tried.
“Second,” Kara blew three short blasts. “Orcs coming. You’re scouting, you see orcs, you blow this. You hear it, you know they are here.”
“Third,” Kara blew three long blasts. “Retreat.” She looked at each of them again. Even Dredka. “You hear this, you fall back to me and the group. No exceptions, no arguments.”
Kara folded her arms over her chest. “Now we practice.” True to her word, she would make them drill the whistle blasts, repeatedly, sometimes as a group and sometimes individually, until she was confident they knew the three signals.
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khorne
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Linked Characters: Igostrom
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Post by khorne on May 8, 2019 18:12:18 GMT
Igostrom was used to Dredka's type. Brutish. Barbaric. Undisciplined. Might do fine on their own in a battlefield, even against multiple opponents, but a disciplined unit was only truly effective if the unit acted as one. He had seen plenty of poor lads die stupid deaths because they happened to be next to some bloodthirsty mercenary who decided to break the line and go off on his own, creating a massive weak point. The good thing, however, was Kara seemed to be used to Dredka's type. In smaller units like these, it was easier to plan around the undisciplined.
As for the rest of the party, well he could definitely have worse. Warden, he could tell had seen combat, but wasn't completely sure about her experience in larger units and tactics. Honeybun, he didn't expect anything of at all. He viewed her as a VIP to be protected, but this time the VIP would actually contribute something to the fight. He didn't have complete faith in Kara, as he had seen her lose her cool before, but she was the leader, so he would do what she said, when she said it. He was relieved at the whistle drills, however. He had been through thousands of drills before, and had drilled thousands of soldiers. He loved them. Yelling at recruits (or being yelled at by higher ups) to do more pushups was relaxing for him. He was in his element.
Honeybun and Kara would notice something different about Igostrom. He was in civilian mode when he met them the other day. Now, he was in full soldier mode. At attention, rigid back, completely ready to go and take on the world at a moment's notice. His face was hard, and unfeeling, but if anyone tried to talk casually to him, he would break it for a few seconds to reply to them at least. Having a "soldier mode" and a "civilian mode" was easy, the hard part was switching between the two. Igostrom had seen too many veterans who lost control of that. They would snap at their spouses and children. Beat them. They just didn't know how to change back into civilians. The poor men, their poor families.
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Post by enchilada on May 8, 2019 18:28:07 GMT
Honeybun nodded along to everything Kara showed. Her ears twitched a little, it was very loud, but she supposed they’d be further apart if she used the whistle at any stage.
Short, long short. Help. Nod.
Short, short, short. Orcs coming. Nod.
Long, long, long. Retreat. Nod.
And practice? That was okay. She didn’t mind that at all. The noise was duller now, less oppressive. Even her own voice, her own instruments could shock her a little with the noise, at first, but once she got past that, Honeybun really thrived with noise. She understood, she remembered, she was confident. Honeybun felt the judgemental gaze of the horse-guy, but she really didn’t care. Him, and everyone else, seemed to think and see the same thing of her.
He’d lose it the second she stopped him, like, bleeding out, or whatever.
The whistle string was long, she’d been holding it the whole time — she pulled a few knots in the back of it, made sure she could pull them loose, then retied them before lifting her hat to place it around her neck.
“Thanks Kara.” Someone had to say it, right?
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Post by Dredka on May 8, 2019 19:00:23 GMT
Insight Check: UNcCGTjE1d20-11d20-1
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Post by Dredka on May 8, 2019 19:07:48 GMT
Also a performance check: MfrHKfYn1d20+31d20+3
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Jarovbees
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Post by Jarovbees on May 8, 2019 19:11:39 GMT
Whistles? Well, fine, if that's what it took. Warden had some experience with using symbols and hand signs to convey meanings not meant for others, so this wasn't much different. She wasn't the fastest learner, never had been, but her persistence more than paid off in the end when she was able to pull off the different signals on command. As long as everyone else remembered, too, that would be enough to keep them functioning. However, for pride's sake she hoped 'help' would not be so necessary on her end. She didn't know any of these people except Kara, who beat her so quickly during that sparring. Can she be faulted for wanting to show off what she can do? That and as much as she rarely darkens the doors of her temple, the tiefling would prefer to give a non-unfavorable impression of her goddess.
When they seemed about finished, she nodded at Honeybun's thanks, not wanting to come off as too eager but nonetheless respectful of Kara's command.
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Post by Dredka on May 8, 2019 19:13:52 GMT
Dredka met Kara’s gaze for a long time, and then gave the woman a firm nod. She was satisfied with what she saw; they had reached an understanding. Clearly, the woman didn’t like orcs, but that was fine. Nor did Dredka, as a rule. She stepped backwards, apparently having decided that she was good, and that everything was fine.
Bending down, she scooped up a good portion of the dirt along with the whistle, and then looked at it sceptically. As though unconvinced that such a tiny thing could actually be useful in any way.
Then Kara and the others demonstrated the whistles, and Dredka’s eyes went as wide as saucers.
Her own attempt to make the whistle work was not quite so successful. The first attempt made it spew clogged dirt and flecks of grass in all directions. She hit it a couple of times against her palm and tried again, and this time?
She gave the piping whistles in their three versions, loudly, and her face split into a wide, far too toothy grin.
“Hey!” She declared, “It works!”
Her smile faded after a moment, though.
“Wait. If help means you come. What happens if you blow help?”
And, after just a few seconds, she was already having difficulty remembering exactly what they all meant. Or how to blow them herself. Her great brow furrowed, and she grunted.
“Can I just treat them all like ‘come here?’ That way, if people need help, I run to them. If people see orcs, I run to them. If people run away, I run to them. … Then I won’t forget.”
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Post by moralhazard on May 8, 2019 19:41:21 GMT
Igostrom, Kara saw immediately, was the most used to being commanded, and not too full of himself from his own experiences in command not to take orders. The whistle drills were clearly easy for him, and she had no concerns about his remembering the signals. Honeybun was a musician; Kara had heard her rather unusual but interesting music before. Unsurprisingly, the disconcertingly-smart rabbit was quick to master the blasts.
Warden took a little longer, but Kara didn’t worry overmuch about her either. They were simple enough signals.
Dredka? There had been a long moment when Kara had thought that the orc wouldn’t pick up the whistle. When she did, she seemed to regard it as if she had never seen one before. The vein along Kara’s jaw jumped again. But Dredka tried, and after a few moments made the piping blasts – loudly, very loudly, but correctly. Her face split into a big, broad, toothy grin.
Kara had seen plenty of orcs smile before. She’d seen nasty smiles, cruel smiles, triumphant smiles, smiles stained with the blood of her friends and family. She’d seen smiles that chilled every inch of her, and smiles that made her afraid. Dredka’s smile was – different. It wasn’t different, not really, she was still an orc, but as Kara watched her delight over the tiny whistle, she felt – she felt – somehow – a faint, tiny pang of liking for the orc woman.
Kara shoved the feeling away, immediately, frowning. Dredka was an orc. She may have claimed she was different from the rest, but that wasn’t something Kara could take on faith. Not after what she’d seen. This was an orc, a dangerous, nasty, brutish thug. And someone who’s face lit up after successfully blowing on a tiny tin whistle, with an earnest, childlike enthusiasm.
Dredka announced that the signals were too complicated for her. Kara blinked at her, tugging at the end of her long braid with one hand and thinking over the modification. After a moment, she nodded, face still creased into a frown. “All right. You see orcs, you blow three times. Otherwise, you hear whistles, you – come here.” That seemed fair enough. Not ideal, but this wasn’t a complicated mission.
Kara exhaled. The premise was simple enough; they had their patch of woods to comb off the road. “Any tracking experience?” She asked, glancing among her squad. They would need someone out in front, someone behind, and to trust the middle of the ground to watch the sides. Preferably, whoever was out in front would try to look for tracks as they combed through the woods. Igostrom struck Kara as a good choice for the back; he wasn’t likely to be quiet, but he’d be a good sweeper. That meant she could be in front herself, if necessary.
Once she had the group’s arrangement figured out, Kara would leave the rest to drilling the whistles a few more times and go to Honeybun, crouching down to meet her gaze more easily.
“Once the fighting starts,” Kara had no doubt they would see fighting, “I need you to get under cover. Cast your spells from there. Can you use a ranged weapon?” Kara was calm and serious. She had no doubt that Honeybun could handle herself intellectually, and probably even physically, for her size. But she was a rabbit; there was no way she could take as many blows as any of the rest of them. Kara refused to lose the talented musician, at least not on her watch.
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